


readjustment not possible at the moment. try again later.

by cancerthecrabbo



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Caretaking, Delirium, Exhaustion, Eye Trauma, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Medical Inaccuracies, Mild Gore, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Physical hurt/comfort, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Sleepiness, Spoilers, Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2018, a little bit of, lots of sleepiness, not thorki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 16:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16371416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cancerthecrabbo/pseuds/cancerthecrabbo
Summary: It's been a long, hard couple of days.  Thor just wants to lie down and ignore his missing eye and the multitude of stab wounds that his sister had inflicted.  Fortunately for him, Loki, Bruce, and Brunnhilde aren't going to let that happen.(Day 19 of Whumptober: Exhaustion)





	readjustment not possible at the moment. try again later.

**Author's Note:**

> Australia Man Gets Fucked Up and Deserves to Be Cleaned Up By Caring Friends

Adapting has never been hard for Thor.  It’s in his blood as an Asgardian and as a warrior – he can’t afford stagnation.  Ever since he was exiled from Asgard, once everything started going to shit, Thor has begun to expect the worst outcome in every situation.  He stays on his toes as much as he can, though some things did tend to get under his skin more, like seeing his brother die multiple times.  But, nobody can say that Thor isn’t good at adjusting.

 

It was the only way he had made it through Ragnarok.  First, his father died.  The man Thor had thought invincible scattered into the wind to follow his mother.  Immediately after, his hammer was destroyed.  It was the one constant in his life, gone.  Shattered like glass, as Loki had put it.  A sibling he never knew existed appeared to descend upon his home and spread death – and she succeeded.  His home and half of his people died.

 

Reasonably, Thor is tired.

 

His people, his brother, and his new friends are all safe on the ship.  That thought alone is what allowed him to be dragged to his assigned room.  Loki didn’t say a word but from his continuous, persistent reminders to get his eye checked out as he flits around the room, arranging pillows and tinkering with moldy-looking decorations, Thor isn’t exactly the spitting image of health. 

 

Now he is blissfully alone in his cold, metal room with an aching body and nothing to distract from the pit in his gut.  Thor regrets sending his brother and Banner away, but they each have their own troubles to deal with.  Maybe it would’ve been nice to deal with their pain together. 

 

This type of need is new for Thor.  He’s naturally affectionate – something a lot of people resent – and the bonds between warriors run deep.  However, Odin very obviously didn’t believe in speaking his emotions or even dealing with them in healthy ways.  Freya was always more open, more willing to be vulnerable; perhaps Odin never could because his role as king demanded strength at all times.  Regardless, Thor has some difficulty letting go and allowing himself to decompress, to weep, to grieve.  Usually, he would allow some public show of emotion for moral, and now that he’s king it’s even more important to keep up appearances and be honest with his people, but privately…he’s terrified.

 

Thor runs his hand over the dusty sheets.  He’s afraid they’ll fall apart under his weight, but suddenly the pressure in his head and in his stomach is too much.  Moving hurts no matter what he does, so Thor lets himself collapse onto the mattress, a choked noise squeezing itself from his lungs.  It sinks under him but is solid enough that he will be getting some sleep, though the pain that radiates from nearly every part of his body says it won’t be enough.  Another groan scrapes out through his teeth, ending in a whine as he rolls onto his stomach.  The details of where Hela stabbed him are hazy, except for the loss of his eyeball of course, and he vaguely remembers a blade sinking into his back at one point.  It was probably right before his mind escaped to the plains. 

 

Now that he thinks about it, he should probably deal with that and tell Bruce what happened.  It might have been his mind breaking for a few precious seconds.  Thor can’t afford to be compromised.  Something like that happening in the middle of battle won’t have such a positive outcome again, he would be too lucky.  Seeing his father had been a blessing, but mulling it over now frightens him.  Maybe he was so close to the brink of death that Odin had stepped in and helped for once in his life instead of leaving his sons to stumble through situations painfully.  Then again, Thor had been teetering on the edge of something far darker than death, something he saw in the eyes of prisoners of war, of warriors that had lost absolutely everything. 

 

On that balcony, with only one eye and stab wounds littering his body, blood pumping out as his estranged sister taunted him, Thor had nearly lost everything.  Loki, Heimdall, Bruce, and Brunnhilde had been fighting for their lives while his sister’s army actively tried to kill the last of the Asgardian people.  He had almost lost _everything_.

 

So now it’s a bit hard to come to terms with the fact that he hadn’t.  His remaining family is alive and Ragnarok has run its course.  He can finally rest.

 

Breathing becomes harder with his nose pressed to the stale sheets.  Thor turns on his side, eyes scrunched and pressed into the pillow.  A cough crawls up his throat with all the grace of a dead bug bursting against his lips.  He realizes a second later that Hela must have crushed something a little because what splatters on the arm curled against Thor’s face isn’t bug legs.  Little drops of blood speckle the inside of his wrist.  Thor grunts quietly and clears his throat to expel the rest of the blood that had made its way up. 

 

The exhaustion pulling on his bones far outweighs the discomfort of his stab wounds and the eye patch still fused to the crusted blood of his eye.  Finally, Thor’s muscles truly relax, and he sinks deeper into the mattress.  He starts to doze despite still wearing his armor, a headache forming between his eyes and throbbing at his temples.  The distinct taste of iron does nothing to rouse him.  Not even the agony gripping most of his face could compel him to get out of bed.  Not even the door creaking open was enough for him to stir because by then he had slipped further in a deep sleep.

 

 

 

Little snippets of conversation filter through.  Thor can hear Bruce and Brunnhilde’s voices, and at one point, Loki’s.  It’s comforting to sense them so close and to be able to remain mostly asleep as they float around the room.  Suddenly, a multitude of warm hands land on Thor, all pushing to try and roll him onto his stomach again.

 

“Fuck- it’s like trying to roll over a dead cow,” Brunnhilde gripes.  “No offense.”

 

Though they all successfully reposition Thor without even brushing against any wounds, it was somewhat inevitable to press on some bruises.  The pain in his skull flares.  A low noise rises from Thor, unbidden, but he’s still so deep into the doze that he just doesn’t care.  Fortunately, somebody else does.

 

“Shh, I’m here.”  Two fingertips touch Thor’s forehead.  A healing chill spreads from the contact with a familiar essence that makes the last remnants of discomfort fall away.  “Be still.”  Loki’s voice is private, quiet, and soothing.  Thor remembers being sick long, long ago; his mother and Loki lounging on his bed and keeping him company until the fever passed.  Déjà vu hits him suddenly when a wet towel gently brushes against his forehead, smoothing out his brow.  He feels safe with his brother’s presence close and with the physical contact, he’s a bit more anchored in his body and to Loki.

 

Thor sits up with a precarious balance, face pinched and breathing shallow, as Loki carefully removes his armor.  He feels like a child but it doesn’t bother him enough to undress himself.  He can just imagine the sympathy on their faces with each inch of bruised skin that is revealed.  Loki sets his armor to the side and guides him back down, though it’s less of a descent as it is a controlled flop onto his stomach again.

 

Bruce hisses in sympathy.  “Jesus.  Your sister is an evil, evil woman.  I’m pretty sure if Thor weren’t Asgardian…he’d be dead.”  Thor’s eye is closed and he doesn’t feel like opening it anytime soon, but he can still feel the tension in the silence that follows.  He can just imagine the looks they’re giving each other, the fury in Loki’s eyes – he can tell from the slight pause in the towel cleaning the grime and blood from his cheek.  “I’m not really a doctor, so maybe you should get someone else?”

 

Now that is enough incentive to open his eye.  Thor intended to get his arms underneath him and raise himself up enough to turn to Bruce and give him a piece of his mind.  Instead, all he does is wriggle around on the bed and choke out, “ _No_.”  That alone is enough to have him breathing like he just ran a marathon.  Pain explodes along his nerves again and, suddenly, he’s sick of the way his eye patch tugs on his torn skin.  “I need this off,” he murmurs and reaches up to peel the eye patch off, damn the consequences. 

 

Loki’s hand wraps around his wrist.  His arm may be slender compared to Thor’s but he isn’t frail by any means, and since a good amount of Thor’s blood is outside of his body, he can’t overpower his brother this time.  Thor’s arm doesn’t get very far off the bed.  Instead, Loki half-guides and half-forces Thor’s head to his pillow.  The lack of hair tickling his neck is unfamiliar.  He doesn’t want to admit it, but the shorter length is more comfortable.

 

Loki doesn’t let go of his hand, either to keep him from trying to grab the eye patch or to provide comfort.  Thor doesn’t care which.

 

“No doctors,” Loki chimes in, “You’ll be adequate.”

 

Thor closes his eye against the tremors and wave of pain.  Stars explode behind his eyelid and a silent whine sticks in his throat as much as the blood does.  His fingers tighten involuntarily, squeezing Loki’s, and he shudders and scrounges up some energy to cough properly.  Warm, sticky blood splatters against his palette and coats the back of his tongue.  Thor doesn’t have the willpower to spit so he lets it trickle out into his beard and onto the blue-grey pillow.  Loki grips his hand tighter.

 

“I- I don’t even know Asgardian anatomy— "

 

Brunnhilde interrupts, “There’s not much you can do for Thor on the inside, but you know better than either of us how to at least dress the many stab wounds and his eye.  Just get him more comfortable so he doesn’t wake up, walk around, and collapse in the middle of the ship.” 

 

Apparently, that’s enough to convince Bruce.  A wet towel begins to scrub the dried blood from the wound that Hela inflicted on the balcony.  It skirts around the actual split in his skin, carefully dabbing at the bruised skin.  Hela had rammed the blade so hard into Thor’s back that the hilt of her dagger burst the blood vessels around the stab itself.  Cold water stings the injury, making his shoulders jerk minutely.

 

By the time he’s done, Thor is calm enough under his ministrations that he might just let Bruce look at his eye.  Touching it, he’s hesitant about, even half-asleep, but the itchiness is getting unbearable.  Loki touches his cheek, thumb brushing against his nose.  He knows that he needs to get up or at least roll over so that Bruce can work his magic.  He also knows the spot on his mattress is warm and moving would expose him to the cold mattress; at the same time, the chill of open air is becoming increasingly unbearable and none of them will leave Thor alone until they’re done.

 

“I know you’re tired, but can you get on your side, Thor?”  Bruce asks softly.

 

 _Leave me be_ , Thor wants to say, _My eye isn’t going to grow back._ The rational part of him knows it could get infected, or worse, already be infected, but he’s just so tired.  Regardless, he wants to be under the covers, so he slowly peels himself from the mattress onto his side.  Bruce steps into his newly-limited field of vision with a fresh towel and a grimace on his face.  It’s unsaid, but Thor knows it’s going to be unpleasant.

 

“Go ahead,” Thor rumbles.  His voice is hoarse but his tone is firm.  The sooner this is over, the better.

 

The next fifteen minutes are worse than Thor thought they would be.  The skin around the gash is inflamed and, according to Bruce, the wound is infected.  Every brush of the towel sets his nerves on fire and even though Bruce poured generous amounts of ice cold water, peeling the eye patch from his face was agony.  In fact, every tug of the gash pulls him further from sleep. 

 

By the time Bruce is done, Thor’s fists are both clenched in the sheets and sparks of lightning dance between his fingers.  Loki has migrated from his place beside Thor’s head to prop him up.  Brunnhilde stands guard in front of the closed door with arms crossed and eyes firmly following Bruce’s movements.  Thor suspects that she’s more concerned with the possibility of him lashing out accidentally since Bruce, despite being as gentle as possible, is currently a source of pain.  He understands her caution.

 

Finally, mercifully, Bruce steps back with the bloodied rag in one hand and looks over Thor’s eye socket.  “There’s not much more I can do.  Regardless of how fast you heal, I’d like to dress the wound until I’m sure it’s closed up.  Apart from that, the most important thing would be to rest, Thor, no if’s, and’s or but’s…”  Bruce trails off midway through, apparently realizing he doesn’t need to convince anyone.

 

After all, Thor is already asleep.

 

Loki stays with him for the rest of the night, not leaving his side, while Brunnhilde and Bruce only leave for a handful of minutes before coming back.  The Asgardians are cared for and there is nothing left to do but sleep.  Once the next cycle starts, they can organize and plan.  For now, their king is in dire need of rest.


End file.
